


Out of My Dreams

by cinemariel



Category: teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: Based on 3B Promos, Dream Sharing, Dreams, F/M, Martinksi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-05 18:00:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1096875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinemariel/pseuds/cinemariel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia wakes up from a nightmare about Stiles being dragged to his death and calls him only to find that he's had the same dream. Based on the promos for 3B.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dream or Reality?

**Author's Note:**

> I got the idea for this from the 3B promos. I'd like to continue it and expand it to include the bond between Stiles and Lydia and the other side effects of Stiles, Scott, and Allison's sacrifice.

     His hands ran over her hips, through her hair. Fingers traced her lips. Their noses touched. At first he kissed her lightly. Then it deepened. His tongue brushed against hers and she pressed herself as close to him as she could. She dragged her hand from the back of his neck to the hem of his shirt. She was just about to pull it up when she woke up.  
     Lydia sat up in bed. Her heart was pounding. Her legs were tangled up in her sheets and she was covered in a light sheen of sweat. She was actually breathing heavily.  
     All that for a dream about Stiles.  
     Even though no one was there to see her in the state she was in, even though no one could possibly know she felt embarrassed. Like in some way he had gotten the better of her. Lydia preferred to remain unruffled in everyone’s eyes.  
     “This is not a big deal,” she told herself out loud, throwing her heavier blankets to the side and fluffing her pillows.  
     “It was just a dream,” she lay her head on her pillow and closed her eyes. “Dreams are just your brain processing random bits and pieces of your day into an odd compilation of images and sounds. Nothing to worry about.”  
     A dusty floor.  
     Fingers raking across the surface.  
     Digging in.  
     Desperately trying to hold on.  
     Clawing.  
     A voice.  
     Screaming.  
     “HELP! SOMEBODY PLEASE HELP ME.” A voice yelled. Lydia saw someone being dragged by their ankles by some unseen figure. He was shouting himself hoarse. He was so scared. He kicked and screamed but he couldn’t loosen the figure’s grip. He flipped onto his back and Lydia saw his face.  
     “Stiles,” she whispered.  
     Lydia’s eyes snapped open. That wasn’t a dream it was a vision. Stiles was in trouble.  
     Hands shaking, Lydia snatched her phone off her bedside table and called him. The phone rang. Once. Twice. Three times.  
     “...hello,” his voice was thick with sleep.  
     “Stiles?” relief flooded her.  
     “Lydia?” he sounded concerned. “Are you okay? Where are you?”  
     “Home,” she told him. “Are you-”  
     “Why are you calling this late?” she could tell he was scared. “Has something happened?”  
     “Stiles nothing is wrong with me!” she raised her voice trying to snap him out of it. “I’m calling because I’m worried about you.”  
     There’s a silence on the other end of the line. Stiles was never silent.  
     “Stiles?”  
     “I’m here,” he said quietly.  
     “Are you home?” she asked.  
     “Yeah.”  
     “Has something happened? Is everything okay?” she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.  
     “Nothing happened,” he told her.  
     “Then why do you sound like something happened?” she needed to know. What she’d seen had felt so real. And she knew he wasn’t okay. He sounded just as shaken up as she was.  
     “It’s stupid,” he exhaled. She could practically see him looking down at his feet sheepishly and dragging a hand through his hair.  
     Lydia rolled her eyes.  
     “Tell me.”  
     “I had a dream,” he mumbled.  
     “What kind of dream?” she asked.  
     “Uh... a... umm, a normal dream, at first. Just your average run of the mill dream. And then it kinda got... bad.”  
     “You were being dragged,” Lydia could barely get the words out. “I couldn’t see who was doing it. You were screaming. You were so scared.”  
     “Lydia-”  
     “I’m coming over.”  
     Twenty minutes later she was calling him from his doorstep. She didn’t want to wake Sheriff Stilinski, even though the look on his face if saw a girl coming to see Stiles late at night would probably be priceless.  
     Stiles answered the door, phone pressed to his ear.  
     “What the hell is going on?” he asked, attempting a sarcastic tone but just sounding scared.  
     Lydia looked at him. There were dark circles under his eyes. He was still in his pajamas, low slung sweats and a soft grey shirt. He looked even more pale than usual which made his freckles stand out. He was sticking out his jaw, trying to look unaffected, his mouth set in a hard line.  
     Lydia shivered even though she wore a sweater. Nothing about this seemed right.  
     “Can I come in?”  
     Stiles led Lydia through his dark house and into his room. It was just like she remembered it, slightly messy and covered in posters.  
     She sat down on his bed, tugging the sleeves of her sweater over her hands, nervously. She knew she had to say something. She had to explain why she was here and how she knew what he knew. But she didn’t know how to start.  
     “I was sleeping- dreaming actually and I woke up and...” she trailed off, Stiles knelt at her feet, face full of concern.  
     “It’s okay,” his hand hovered near hers for a moment before he placed it on the bed beside her instead. “Did you go somewhere again? Did you hurt yourself?”  
     “No,” she said. “I tried to go back to bed and I saw you. You were being dragged and you were so scared and I couldn’t talk to you I couldn’t help you.”  
     “Lydia-”  
     “Is that what you saw?”  
     Stiles didn’t say anything for a minute. He got off his knees and sat on the floor, looking at his hands for a minute.  
     “I saw you. You were reaching out to me. You weren’t saying anything- It was like you couldn’t say anything. And something grabbed me and I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t get free. It just pulled me.”  
     “Where?”  
     “I don’t know,” he said. “Into the dark.”  
     “And then you got my phone call?”  
     “Yeah,” he nodded. “Thanks for that by the way. I wasn’t that excited to see where that thing was taking me.”  
     “Anytime,” Lydia gave him a tight smile.  
     “Lydia how could we have the same dream?” he asked, looking up at her.  
     “I don’t know,” she answered. “Maybe it’s part of my banshee powers.”  
     Stiles put his head in his hands. Lydia slid off the bed and sat in front of him, their knees touching. She placed a hand on her shoulder.  
     “Stiles?”  
     “You see death Lydia,” his voice was full of fear. “Your power is finding bodies. What if you’re just getting better at it? What if you’re just seeing it before it happens.”  
     “Stiles-”  
     “What if that’s how I die?” his breath was starting to come in gasps. “What if some thing drags me away and you just watch.”  
     Lydia tried to grab his hand but he wrenched free of her grasp. He pulled his knees to his chest. The words flew out of his mouth.  
     “When do you think it’ll happen? Just how ahead of the curve do you think you are? Do you think I’ll die tomorrow? Or maybe next week.”  
     “Stiles, it was just a dream.”  
     “A dream you saw. Do you think it was a coincidence? No. This is magic. This is real. It’s going to happen. I’m going to die. And there’s nothing we can do.”  
     It was worse than the locker room. Stiles was frantic. His eyes darted around the room searching for a way to escape. Lydia felt powerless.  
     “Stiles, you’re having a panic attack.”  
     “I know. I know what a panic attack feels like, Lydia.” His hands were balled up into fists. He dug his nails into his hands.  
     Lydia took his face into her hands but Stiles wrenched it out.  
     “Lydia, I’m freaking dying. You can’t kiss this and make it better.” His breathing was more labored now. Lydia was afraid he was going to pass out.  
     She slammed her hand into his chest and pushed him against the foot of his bed. She did her best to keep her voice steady.  
     “Stiles Stilinski, I am your anchor.”  
     He shut up, eyes intently focused on her face. She pressed on, hoping she could distract him long enough for his breathing to regulate.  
     “It makes perfect sense that we had the same dream. But it doesn’t mean it’s anything more than that. I called you because I was worried that it was happening but it wasn’t real.”  
     “And if it is?” he asked. He was putting on a brave face again. Just like he had at the door. Like he didn’t want her to know how terrifying this was for him.  
     “I won’t let it happen. I kept you alive and in this world before and I won’t let anything take you out of it.”  
     Stiles grabbed her and pulled her into a hug. She wrapped her arms around his waist and nestled her head against his chest. They stayed that way for a while. Her listening to the sound of his heartbeat as it returned to normal and him stroking her hair.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia, concerned about Stiles, asks Allison about her relationship with her anchor, Isaac.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to use this chapter to explore everyone's reactions to the sacrifice. There is some Allisaac and Scallison.

     In the morning they woke up in the same position. Lydia sat up, stretching. Uncomfortable from sleeping sitting up, but surprisingly well rested.   
     “Morning,” she gave him a small smile. She couldn’t believe she’d spent the night in Stiles Stilinski’s bedroom.   
     “Morning,” Stiles stood up and helped Lydia to her feet. “Do you want breakfast or-”  
     “I think I’ll just head home,” she desperately wanted a long, hot shower.   
     “So, who’s dream do you think it was?” he asked, wringing his hands. “Yours or mine?”  
     “I don’t know.”  
     Lydia turned to leave. She wrapped her fingers around the handle.   
     “Lydia?”   
     She turned around to see him with a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.   
     “What?” she braced herself for whatever stupid joke about her spending the night he was about to make.   
     “Before the scary stuff, the dragging and the screaming. In your- our dream- did you see anything...else?”  
     The most involuntary blush of all time spread across Lydia’s cheeks when she remembered her first dream and Stiles’ hands and how close she was to ripping his shirt off when she woke up.   
     Stiles slight smile had turned into a full on grin. Her face must have given him his answer.   
     “Shut up,” Lydia shut the door behind her and found herself face to face with Sheriff Stilinski.   
     She was right. His face was pretty priceless.   
     “Lydia,”   
     “Sheriff,” cheeks burning, Lydia gave him a curt nod and headed for the front door as fast as she could. She’d let Stiles deal with the fallout.   
     When she got to school she felt strange. Her life was all about routine. Wake up, do her hair, put on the outfit she picked last night, eat breakfast, drive to school, sing along to the radio, park, go to class.   
     This morning it was wake up at Stiles house, lie about a sexy dream she had, have an awkward encounter with his father, drive home, take a shower, barely have time to dry her hair and slap some make up on, frantically pull on her clothes, speed to school, desperately search for a parking spot, arrive to class late. For everyone else it was just a normal day, but Lydia felt... strange.   
     Spending the night with Stiles was certainly strange. And Lydia did her best to convince herself that her sleepover with him was the only thing feeding the pit in her stomach. But if she was honest, it was something else. It was the dream. It was the fear and pain she’d seen on his face. It was something she hadn’t just seen, but felt. She felt how afraid he was. And it was scaring her. Had her vision been real?   
     Everyone had been different since the sacrifice. Allison’s moods were all over the place. Scott was showing up to school exhausted more often than not. Stiles, who was already spacey to begin with, could barely focus.   
     “You okay?” Allison poked Lydia in the side with a pencil to get her attention. She looked exhausted. But even though there were dark purple circles under her eyes she looked concerned for Lydia. That was the thing. Even though her friends were going through something dark and terrifying they still cared about her, even worried about her.   
     “Yeah,” Lydia told her. “Weird night.”   
     Scott stumbled in even later than her. His clothes were rumpled and he seemed out of breath. His eyes frantically searched for Allison, but once they found her he breathed a sigh of relief.   
     “Nice of you to join us, Mr. McCall,” their homeroom teacher drawled.   
     Scott just gave him a thin smile and found his seat.   
     When Lydia thought about it, she realized it must be hardest for Scott. Stiles had her, Allison had Isaac, but Scott had Deaton. His boss was an important figure in his life but it wasn’t the same as Allison and Isaac had or as whatever Stiles felt for her. It must be hard for him to see Allison lean on Isaac so hard. Not only were they hooking up, but Lydia knew she called him every time she felt the affects of the sacrifice. It must be hard for Scott to not be stable enough to be her rock and to be her second choice.   
     Now that Lydia thought of it, last night was the first time she had acted as Stiles anchor. She knew Isaac had helped Allison through multiple episodes, Scott had shown up at Deacon’s at four in the morning last week when he couldn’t get his claws to retract, but Stiles had never once asked for her help. In fact, she had had to go to him last night.   
     In spite of how terrifying and emotionally draining the previous night was, Lydia couldn’t help but be a little miffed that Stiles hadn’t relied on her before. Not that she wanted him to be crying to her every second or anything but... what gives? She was a great anchor. She’d held Stiles down and waited the sixteen hours just like Isaac and Deaton. She’d calmed him down during the panic attack. She was well versed in how to deal with anxiety and fear from both personal experience and extensive reading. Lydia was a damn great anchor and Stiles didn’t know how good he had it.   
     “Are you sure you’re okay?” Allison asked, leaning forward earnestly to get a better look at her. She must have noticed the hard look forming on Lydia’s face.   
     “Fine,” she said. “How often do you call Isaac to deal with... things?”  
     Allison blushed.   
     “Umm... that specifically?” her voice went up on the last syllable and Lydia rolled her eyes.   
     “Not that,” Lydia so was not looking for that kind of information right now. “I mean supernatural things, anchor things.”  
     “Oh,” Allison turned somber. “Maybe once or twice a week? Why? Is Stiles giving you trouble? Do you think he’s faking it to hang out with you?”  
     “What? No.” Lydia knew Stiles crush on her was pretty apparent but she never thought he’d be that shameless. “The thing is, he never talks to me about it. I know he must be talking to Scott, they’re attached at the hip. But that’s not the same.”  
     Scott’s head whipped their way at the mention of his name. And Lydia gave him a reassuring smile that everything was fine. Scott lay his head back on his desk and Lydia felt the biggest sympathy pang for her exhausted friend.   
     “He has his own problems. But still, Stiles talking to him is better than him talking to no one.”  
     Lydia nodded. The conversation ended as their teacher began taking attendance. But Lydia wasn’t paying attention. If she had noticed how much pain Scott was in with the pack, the sacrifice, and Allison, Stiles had noticed before it even happened. Stiles would never burden Scott with something if he thought he could deal with it on his own. But how much longer could Stiles shut Scott and Lydia out before he had a complete meltdown?  
     Lydia shuddered. When she’d gone through everything with Peter last year, she’d been alone. Partially by choice, partially because she was being ignored. She remembered feeling like nobody could possibly understand how terrified she was and if she said it out loud then somehow it made everything he made her see real. She wouldn’t wish those feelings on anybody.   
     Especially Stiles.


	3. La Vie En Rose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia asks Stiles why last night was the first time he came to her for help.

     The more she thought about it the more angry she got. How was Isaac a better anchor than her? How was the Beacon Hills Mystery Vet a better anchor than her? Lydia saw him at the end of the hall and walked over to him.  
     “I’m a great anchor,” she told him.  
     “Huh?” he asked, looking confused.  
     “I’m a great anchor,” she repeated. “Say it.”  
     “You’re a great anchor?”  
     “You’re damn right I am. So why was last night the first time you asked for my help?”  
     “I... didn’t need it before,” Stiles told his sneakers. Lydia rolled her eyes. You’d think the son of a sheriff would be better at lying during an interrogation.  
     “Stop lying,” Lydia tried to control the volume of her voice, not wanting to yell at him in front of the whole school.  
     “Fine!” Stiles slammed his locker shut. “I’ve had dreams like that every night since the sacrifice. Are you happy?”  
     “Then why didn’t you tell me?” she asked. “Allison and Isaac-”  
     “Are dating,” he cut her off. “Allison’s anchor is her boyfriend, Scott’s is his boss, mine is...”  
     The bell rang.  
     “Stiles-”  
     “I have class,” Stiles retreated, traveling about as fast down the hallway as he could without running. 

     She thought about it all day. Stiles knew he could come to her, right? If he had needed her help he could have asked.  
     But, as she was getting into bed that night she couldn’t help but think about when Peter was messing with her head last year. She could have asked Allison for help. Or her mom. Or... someone. But she didn’t. Maybe if she had, Peter wouldn’t be back and she could have nipped that whole thing in the bud before she poisoned her friend.  
     She sighed. It would be great to have normal problems. It would be amazing to worry about boys instead of alpha packs and grades instead of human sacrifices. But that was not what her life was like.  
     At least this was never dull.  
     And with that, she drifted off to sleep. 

     Hold me close and hold me fast  
     The magic spell you cast  
     This is la vie en rose

     They were alone on the dance floor. She felt like they were the only two people in the world. Lydia sighed, content. She gazed at the twinkling lights that were strung above them. She rested her head on his shoulder. 

     When you kiss my heaven sighs  
     And though I close my eyes  
     I see la vie en rose

     She could feel the warmth of his hand on her waist through the delicate fabric of her dress. She was tired, but pleasantly so. Her arm was wrapped around his neck, half for closeness, half so she could put some of her weight on him. He didn’t seem to mind. 

     When you press me to your heart  
     I’m in a world apart  
     A world where roses bloom

     She lifted her head so she could look at him. A smile spread across his lips. His fingers threaded through hers. Warmth spread through her. 

     And when you speak, angels sing from above  
     Everyday words seem to turn  
     Into love songs

     She grinned back at him. She rested her forehead against his. The ends of her hair brushed his shoulders as she leaned in. 

     Give your heart and soul to me  
     And life will always be  
     La vie en rose

     He kissed her gently. His lips shaping themselves around hers. Lydia felt giddy. And even though her eyes were closed she felt like the twinkling lights were still dancing in front of her.  
     He pulled back and looked at her. She leaned forward, instinctively, not wanting the kiss to end. But the way he looked at her, like he wanted nothing more than to dance with her all night, to look at her all night. It was almost better than the kiss.  
     He looked down at their still intertwined hands and she followed his gaze.  
     “Lydia?” her eyes rose to meet his.  
     They weren’t on the dance floor anymore. They were in a dark room. Lit by one flickering light bulb. Stiles’ voice was full of panic.  
     “Lydia!” his voice was hoarse. “You’re not supposed to be here.”  
     Lydia was paralyzed. She couldn’t move. All she could do was squeeze his hand tighter.  
     “Lydi-” something grabbed him by the ankle, turning the end of her name into a wordless scream.  
     Scream.  
     Lydia sucked in air, trying to scream, trying to do something, anything. But the only sound she could make was a faint, high pitched, whine.  
     Stiles slammed into the ground and Lydia, still holding his hand, was brought to her knees. She tried to keep her grip on his hand and looked for something to anchor herself to. But all she found was the dusty floor around her.  
     Wait.  
     She had been here before. In the dream she’s shared with Stiles. This was a dream. It had to be.  
     “Stiles,” she locked eyes with him. “You’re dreaming. Wake up.”  
     “No,” he said through gritted teeth. “It’s real.”  
     “You’re dreaming, we’re dreaming.” Lydia told him. “We were just dancing, remember?”  
     She saw the realization flicker in his eyes.  
     “If we’re dreaming we can wake up,” she told him. “Wake up, Stiles!”  
     Whatever was pulling on his ankle pulled harder, almost freeing him from her grasp.  
     “Wake up now!”  
     Lydia sat up in bed gasping for air and drenched with sweat. Her hands were shaking. Her whole body was shaking.  
     Her phone rang. Startling her. She stifled a scream.  
     “Stiles?” she didn’t have to look at her phone to know who it was.  
     “Did you-”  
     “Yes.” She rubbed her arms, trying to make the goosebumps that now covered them disappear.  
     There was a pause on the other end. She heard him take in a shaky breath. It wasn’t until he started talking that Lydia realized he was trying not to cry.  
     “I’m sorry, Lydia,” he struggled to get the words out. “I didn’t mean to get you into all this. If I could stop it- If I could make it so you didn’t have to have the dreams too... I just- I’m sorry for yelling at you, I really didn’t mean-”  
     “Stiles, stop,” Lydia whispered. “none of this is your fault. I’m not mad at you. I’m worried about you. I want to help.”  
     “But you shouldn’t have to-”  
     “But I am. Allison’s anchor is her boyfriend, Scott’s is his boss, and I’m your partner. I’m going to help you get through this whether you want me to or not.”  
     “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was really excited to write another dream sequence. Hope you liked it!


End file.
